


clawing through the fog, drinking in the break of dawn

by pudgysam



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Multi, a lot of hand-wavey "science", and nobody's impressed/intimidated by bucky, this was supposed to be a porny one shot, wherein there's a lot of smirking and leering, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 09:59:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1853827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pudgysam/pseuds/pudgysam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here’s the thing, change doesn’t necessarily need to be big. Most people can usually make do with small changes like switching up their style, or ordering that thing from the coffee shop with too many adjectives. Not alter their entire biology.</p>
            </blockquote>





	clawing through the fog, drinking in the break of dawn

**Author's Note:**

> This would never have happened without the lovely [Jess](http://sergeantjerk.tumblr.com) who decided to ruin my life with [this picture](http://sergeantjerk.tumblr.com/post/86627837740) of Sebastian Stan, then co-wrote part of the porny bits with me on Skype, God bless. Also, thank you to [Sarah](http://patchworkgirlfriend.tumblr.com), who not only held my hand, but who also, patiently, edited this for me, even with her crazy life. I love y'all so much!

Here’s the thing, change doesn’t necessarily need to be big. Most people can usually make do with small changes like switching up their style, or ordering that thing from the coffee shop with too many adjectives. Not alter their entire biology.

Bucky always said Steve could be a bit overzealous. (Granted it would be hidden in a stream of fucks, shits, and goddamns Bucky screamed at Steve whenever he’d back-flip over exploding tanks while tossing his shield at wayward Hydra agents. Which never happened often enough due to Bucky’s constant hovering.)

After the serum, being a human popsicle for seventy odd years, waking up in a world with flying robots, finding his best friend, losing his best friend, getting his best friend back, and then finally dating said best friend, big changes are kind of the only ones that Steve understands.  
_______________________

He doesn’t tell Bucky for a couple of months. Doesn’t tell anybody really, except for Bruce. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Bucky or his team, it’s more because he’s not sure he’s ready. The only reason he told Bruce was because Steve’s not sure how everything would react to the serum.

When Steve voiced his apprehensions to Bruce, Bruce was silent long enough to make Steve regret saying anything. Apparently his fears were senseless since Bruce just shrugged saying, “I’m not a biologist or geneticist, but I’ve dabbled in both in the past.” The shadows under his eyes seemed to deepen. He smiled at Steve, “I can look into it.”

Afterwards, Bruce would discreetly pull him aside after missions or send him encrypted emails off of SHIELD’s network describing the progress in his research. “The main concern I have are the surgeries you’ll have to undergo. Your body heals at an inhuman rate, it’ll knit together with every incision and overall heal way too fast for any doctor, even SHIELD’s, to do anything.”

And for a long time Steve thought that was it. That he had to stay stuck in a body he never felt was really his. He’d always be grateful to Erskine for the serum, but in a lot of ways Steve’s felt that his new body wasn’t quite what he wanted. Too many sharp angles where he imagined curves. It was a stupid, not to mention dangerous, dream to have back then, but today, today it’s different.

In this brave, new world where men and women aren’t afraid of demanding respect for themselves, it’s different. Where only that morning, Steve had stood in line at a coffee shop behind two men holding hands. A world where when he hailed a cab afterwards, he saw a teenage girl distract her girlfriend with a long kiss outside a floral shop, and he only saw a single person glance in disgust. 

Steve woke up in a world at a turning point, precariously standing on the edge of a knife, waiting for just the right kind of push. He wasn’t sure he was ready to be that push, but if people could see that even a man like Steve Rogers, that Captain America wasn’t okay with staying in a body that wasn’t his.

Maybe Steve had to be that push.  
_______________________

Three months later, after a particularly disgusting mission (seriously, if Steve knew that giant alien squids who frequently shoot acidic ink at innocent bystanders were a thing in the future, he’d have stayed frozen thanks), Bruce shuffled him off to an empty office after a hasty debriefing at Stark Tower, his grip tight on Steve’s elbow. Once the door clicked closed behind them Bruce couldn’t stand still and started pacing around the sole table. Steve blearily watched, and his eyes glazed over as he imagined a naked, clean, Bucky underneath him in bed at home.

Steve swayed dangerously to the right, he flung out a hand, bracing himself on the wall. God, he just wanted to sleep for another seventy years. He massaged the bridge of his nose between his thumb and middle finger. “Bruce, did you want to tell me something?”

Bruce abruptly stopped and looked up. With clothes still torn from the Hulk’s transformation paired with wild, manic eyes, Steve actually took a step back and dropped in a defensive crouch, his mind still stuck on battle mode. Steve hastily stammered out an attempt at an apology while returning to his previous slouch, but Bruce just waved it off impatiently. “Do you still want this?” Steve felt his cheeks go hot at the sudden question, and avoided Bruce’s gaze as he nodded.

He glanced up in time to see Bruce’s answering grin, “Good. I might have a solution.”

Bruce explained that he’d found a way to manufacture a copy of the serum with a specific DNA sequence that could overwrite Steve’s Y chromosome and mutate it into another chromosome. He found a way. There was a lot of other science jargon that Steve’s exhausted brain couldn’t keep up with, but Bruce said he found a way. His mind circled infinitely around, whirring faster, faster, until Steve felt his stomach violently churn. Coney Island briefly flashed through his fevered thoughts.

Steve ran a hand through his dirty hair, belatedly realizing there was still ink in it. He made a face at the mess. What he wouldn’t give for a damn shower. Preferably with Bucky in it.

He sighed tiredly, “Ok, so you can do it, right?” Last chance, last chance.

Bruce rubbed his eyes, “Give me six weeks.”

Six weeks later, Bruce approached Steve with the vial of serum. Steve picked it up gingerly, holding it up to the light, examining the clear liquid. Bruce laughed under his breath, “It’s not going to bite, Steve.” Steve felt the tips of his ears burn, but pretended he didn’t hear Bruce.

Steve’s eyes narrowed in doubt, “This is it?” Steve didn’t want to offend the good doctor, but he expected something a little more complicated. What Steve could glean from the large amount of science talk, Bruce would simply give Steve a shot with the serum, and that would be that. He honestly expected another chamber he’d have to step into.

Bruce smiled, “Yep. It’s ready whenever you’re ready.” Steve jerked his arm back to his side, startled. Everything was frighteningly, possibly real.

He handed the vial back carefully, “Thanks. I uh, I gotta go talk to Bucky.” Bruce dipped his head understandingly, giving a comforting pat before leaving.  
_______________________

Even before Erskine’s serum, Steve had hated his body. Hated his bony elbows, hated that he could count his ribs no matter how often Bucky would do everything short of shovel food into his mouth. He hated everything weak about himself.

He hated the nights his weak body would betray him, and he’d have to bite down on his forearm, keeping silent when he spilled over, Bucky’s name dancing on his lips.

Hated those nights even more when he imagined a slight, delicate woman writhing in Bucky’s strong grip. Despised them the most once he figured out that he wanted the woman to be Steve, not one of Bucky’s dames.

He’d hoped that maybe when he joined the army, when the serum made him stronger and bigger (better), when he met Peggy and fell head over heels for her, his previous taboo desires would fade. And for a while he thought they’d left. He was too busy moving from state to state, acting as the army’s monkey to think about Bucky or his uneasiness inside of his own body. 

Both still haunted him though. Drifting, always drifting in the back of his head. Until the day he heard of the 107th’s capture. He had been preoccupied with freeing the men and Bucky, but after the numerous scolding’s concealed as debriefs, at the pub when Steve could finally be alone with Bucky, those desires came rushing back. Just as if they’d never abandoned him. They refused to go away. 

Years passed. Decades and battles and moments separated them. They weren’t the boys from Brooklyn, or the soldiers fighting a war they thought was so black and white.

The world had changed them as drastically as it itself had changed.

The Winter Soldier changed them. A full year after they got him, and Bucky still screamed himself awake from his nightmares. 

After Steve and Sam were able to convince a reluctant, volatile Bucky to come home with them, it had been months before the Soldier was only an occasional shadow in Bucky’s eyes. Even so, soon after the Soldier’s final disappearance, they’d both had grown weary of dancing around each other. A dance Steve had only recently realized they both had participated in way before Steve’s mother died.

It had been constantly proven that their lives could so easily be snuffed out tomorrow, why wait any longer.

It was because of this that Steve was terrified to tell Bucky about his decision. It was one thing to be in love with Bucky, to have Bucky’s love in return, but to ask Bucky to stay with Steve after his change was a minefield Steve didn’t know how to navigate safely.

Steve was mortified at the blinding awareness of his freezing fear of rejection.

But while Steve may be a lot of things, a coward he’s not. 

The night he finally worked up the courage to tell Bucky, they were eating greasy take out in their apartment at Stark Tower. Tony had given them his Netflix, and they’d finished a massive Disney marathon. Bucky was stabbing the air with his chopsticks, arguing that the historical inaccuracies were easier to swallow in Pocahontas then in Anastasia. Occasional bits of Russian and spittle flew out of his mouth in his righteousness. He was wearing Steve’s sweats and a worn out t-shirt Steve’s fairly certain he filched from Clint’s laundry. His hair, finally cut short (though not as short as when he was in the army), was fluffy from when Steve had played with it earlier, and there was a new hickey appearing on his collarbone. God, he was gorgeous. Steve wasn’t sure he could love Bucky any more than he did in that moment.

A rush of giddy exhilaration zinged up his spine, and Steve couldn’t fucking stop himself. It all sort of spilled out gracelessly as he confessed exactly just how long he’d wanted the change. He went so far as telling Bucky about his dreams. After, he was actually panting and he could feel his chest grow tight like it used to when he’d had asthma. He stared at the kitchen table, clasping and unclasping his hands constantly fidgeting, refusing to meet Bucky’s gaze.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bucky round the table. His vision became blurry, and he shut his eyes in fear. His entire body jerked in surprise when Bucky’s hand rubbed Steve’s back rhythmically like he had when they were kids. He murmured softly in Steve’s ear, “Steve, it’s ok, you’re ok,” over and over again.

As Steve relaxed, Bucky turned his chair pressing their lips together in a chaste kiss. “You goddamn idiot, I’ll take you however you are. S’long as you’re still that punk from Brooklyn, you can’t get rid of me.”

At that Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky pulling him down to straddle Steve’s legs, squeezing him tight. With his face buried in the crook of Bucky’s neck, Steve, for possibly the first time in this era, felt at ease.

After Bucky, telling the rest of his team and Fury was almost anti-climactic.

Tony didn’t seem to give much of a damn except for the fact that Bruce hadn’t told him about his new project (“Banner found a way to completely rewrite your DNA, basically deconstructing your entire biology and chemical properties, and he didn’t fucking tell me?”), and promptly stomped off in search of him.

Thor simply beamed brightly at him exclaiming, something about how Steve should meet Sif in order to gain more knowledge about shield-maidens and their preferred armor. “Sif is the finest of our warriors, Son of Rogers. No man dares suffer her wrath,” he proudly boomed. Steve’s knees threatened to buckle under the weight of Thor’s giant hand as he clapped it heavily on Steve’s shoulder in support. 

Clint and Coulson were both incredibly blasé about the entire thing. (Steve would later walk in on Coulson in the kitchen speaking rapidly with someone on the phone about new action figures and trading cards. Steve had decided to take the military initiative and had retreated the hell out when he’d heard mention of underwear. When he hesitantly asked Clint about it at the shooting range, Clint merely knocked another arrow smirking, “Coulson’s just getting a leg up on the new merchandise, Cap. It’s gonna happen anyways, might as well make some money off it.” He released the arrow, hitting his target. A second later, it exploded in a mushroom cloud of sparking red smoke. Clint jumped up and punched his fist repeatedly in the air, shouting, “Hell yeah! I gotta get Stark to make more of these for me.”)

Fury had reacted a lot like Tony did, but with an air of don’t-fuck-up-my-team. Steve left the awkward meeting wondering if it would had been easier just dropping by after all was said and done.

Clint must have told Natasha because Steve had barely opened his mouth before she said, “Me and Darcy are taking you shopping afterwards.”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows in annoyance. “You know I can shop on my own right?” Natasha had given him an unimpressed look and walked off yelling over her shoulder, “I hope you like lace, Cap!”

Steve had chosen to ignore her for his peace of mind.   
_______________________

The day he was ready, Steve called Bruce to their apartment. When he arrived he began to meticulously set up his sparse equipment beside their couch. Bruce had Steve pull on old sweats and a hoodie (“You’re allowed to be comfortable Steve.”), and told him to lie down on the couch.

Bucky snorted, “Just lie back and think of America Stevie.”

Steve smacked the closest body part he could reach (Bucky’s hip) in retaliation. Bruce grinned at the two of them before sobering, “You sure about this Cap?”

Steve looked up at Bucky, tangling their fingers together and swallowed, “I’m sure Doc.” Bruce nodded absentmindedly.

“You’re going to feel a pinch, and you’ll most likely pass out.” At Steve’s strangled noise of alarm, Bruce hastily continued, “My strain of the serum has a high dosage of morphine. It’s just enough that it should knock you out so you don’t feel any pain.”

Bucky’s hand tightened around Steve’s. “This gonna hurt him?” he asked, voice low and guttural, both a warning and a threat. Steve stroked his thumb in a wide sweep across Bucky’s knuckles, a small attempt at comfort.

Bruce lifted an eyebrow, “His entire bone structure and DNA sequence will physically change, so, yes, it’ll probably hurt.”

To say Bucky was unhappy with that was an understatement, but Steve tugged him down and kissed the corner of his eye. “Buck, I want this more than anything,” he murmured. Bucky regarded Steve worriedly, but nodded in acquiescence.

Steve turned his attention back towards Bruce, steeling his resolve. “Do it.” (A ghost of a memory from before Red Skull, the 107th, a kiss, the train, seemed to settle like a second skin. Stretched, shifted, strange.)

He tucked his face into his elbow as Bruce pushed the needle into his vein and Steve felt the burn of the serum enter his bloodstream. Almost instantly it felt like his bones were trying to move. Steve thought he felt his very ribs contract and expand, fighting to alter one more time. There was a roaring in his head, in the far away distance he thought he heard Bucky cry out his name. God was he on fire? Everything felt so hot. He gritted his teeth against the pain. He tried to find Bucky, to call out, to scream at him that Steve’s blood was boiling (goddamn it why can’t you see?), but his limbs were heavy and useless, his voice, stolen.

Fuck, everything hurt.

Bucky yelled for him again. Steve struggled again to answer, but the darkness pulled him down down down –   
_______________________

When Steve wakes the first thing he sees is an abundance of wavy hair. With a shaky hand he runs his fingers through the thick mess, occasionally catching on knots and snarls. A touch of panic suffocates him. He swings his feet off the couch and surges to his feet. A dizzy spell catches him off guard. Stumbling forward, he catches himself on the coffee table with a slim hand he doesn’t recognize. Fighting the dark spots obscuring his vision, Steve staggers down the hall to the bathroom, tripping on too long sweat pants. Steve bangs the door open and grasps the sink. Letting his head hang, he inhales deep through his nose.

Oh, God, please be real.

Slowly he lifts his head to look into the mirror. The wide-eyed woman staring back is pale underneath a tan Steve knows is his. They share the same blue eyes and dirty blonde hair, but her face is definitely softer, her jawline rounder. Steve’s – and her – mouth falls open.

Outside, Steve hears the front door click open. Bucky calls out, “Steve? Brought you some grub, you wanna eat?”

Steve feels what’s left of the blood in his face drain. He kicks the bathroom door closed and locks it.

The next second Bucky’s on the other side, what sounds like his flesh-and-blood fist thumping on the door. “Steve! Steve come on, open up!”

Steve presses himself against the cold tile wall, trying to slow his rapid heartbeat. A feminine voice he’s startled to realize is his croaks out, “Gimme a minute, Buck.”

The thumping stops, and Steve sucks in a breath. Bucky shuffles around for a moment and he huffs out a petulant, “Fine.” Steve listens intently until Bucky conspicuously flops onto the floor. Steve eyes close as he exhales fondly at Bucky. 

Gathering the remaining scraps of his frayed nerves, Steve shoves his sweats over new curves, and tears his hoodie off. The sudden rush of cold air is like ice on his sensitive nipples, causing them to tighten into little buds. He palms the – his – two small breasts, rolling his nipples between his middle and index fingers. A hot twist of desire weakens his knees and forces Steve to bite his tongue on a gasp. He feels a wetness begin between his legs. Curiously he trails a hand over taut abs and lower to rub a delicate finger through the mess. Steve accidentally brushes his, oh fuck, brushes his clit, and he collapses to the floor. 

He can’t hold in a groan this time. Outside he hears Bucky scrambling to his feet. Anticipating a future with no bathroom door, Steve pulls hi – herself up and opens the door.

Bucky reels back onto his heels, adopting the look-cool-no-matter-what attitude as if Steve didn’t catch him about to ram the door down. Belatedly remembering she’s naked, Steve flushes red as Bucky gives her a once over.

“You hurt?” Bucky’s gruff concern cuts through her humiliation. Steve should have realized checking for injuries would be his priority. Steve stretches an arm to cup his face, pulling him down closer (and isn’t that something she’s gonna have to get used to, how tall is Bucky anyways?), and places a gentle kiss on his lips.

She turns her head to nuzzle his cheek. “I’m good, Buck,” she whispers. Her lips stretch into a smile and she wraps her arms around his neck, pressing her softer body to his harder physique. His hands fall automatically to cradle her waist. His metal one light and gentle, quickly warming from her skin; his other firm and grounding. He hesitantly grins back.

Steph kisses him behind his ear. “Oh, and Buck? Call me Steph.”  
_______________________

Bucky’s loved Steve since they were two kids slumming it in Brooklyn. He’s protected and cared for Steve even when Steve wouldn’t. Bonded by bruised knuckles and scraped knees, they were rarely separated. Bucky’s always known.

He saw the way Steve looked at the dames Bucky would set them up with. Saw that Steve’s gaze never lingered, never traveled, only appreciative for something he couldn’t have. The way he was never fully content with his body. A risky kind of longing that wasn’t tolerated back then, even on their side of the neighborhood. Bucky knew then, before Steve did, so he waited for Steve to figure it out.

Steve’s epiphany didn’t come until 1942. Steve’s always had incredibly shitty timing.

Of course it wasn’t until seventy-two years later that Steve decided to enlighten Bucky on his overdue revelation. 

Steve couldn’t look Bucky in the eye the night he finally told Bucky. The poor guy was drenched in sweat, his fear palpable across the small table as his eyes darted frantically around the room. Steve was already flipping out enough, Bucky thought it best not to tell him that he already knew. 

For the next month, an amused Bucky watched as Steve agitatedly bounced from Avenger to Avenger, worrying himself into a frenzy.

It wasn’t until Banner came by with his syringe that Bucky started worrying. When Steve started thrashing on the couch and didn’t answer Bucky, Bucky might have panicked. And probably threw Banner out. Through the back window. In Bucky’s defense, it was the window with the connecting fire escape.

When Bucky ran back to Steve, Steve wasn’t Steve. Instead of a man lying on the couch, a woman was swimming in Steve’s overgrown sweats.

The rest of the morning (after Steve’s initial panic) was spent getting to know Steph in every intimate way possible. Bucky would have liked to stretch the morning into the evening, but when they took a break for food, Natasha chose that exact moment to bull rush their door, seriously.   
The door was knocked off its hinges. Behind her a knockout of a woman stepped carefully over what was left of it.

Steph frantically threw on the nearest piece of clothing to cover herself while Bucky sipped nonchalantly at his coffee, “You know it was unlocked that time right?” Natasha shrugged, unconcerned. 

The woman’s gaze dragged appreciatively over Bucky’s very naked chest. She whistled low, “Wooow, very nice. Good job, Rogers.” Behind Bucky, Steph blushed and tugged down at the hem of her, now, oversized sweatshirt trying to cover up her naked thighs. Bucky crossed his arms, moved in front of her, and tried to look overall intimidating. He could actually feel all three of them raise their eyebrows, unimpressed.

“Darcy and I are taking Steve shopping,” Natasha stated mildly while inspecting her nails, unconcerned with Steph’s huff of it’s Steph, Nat. Before Bucky could explain in detail how much he hated the idea, Natasha and the woman, Darcy, whisked Steph off.

Thus, Bucky was left with an empty apartment, a broken door, and a cold shower. After his hour and a half long, freezing shower, Bucky put himself to use by going to the nearest hardware store. He spent another hour going through different locksets and hinges determined to find a sturdier pair that could keep out spiders, birds of prey, and the occasional God/Goddess. By the time he was home and done with the necessary repairs, it was 10 pm, he’d demolished a pizza, and Bucky briefly considered using SHIELD technology to track them down. Naturally, that’s when Steph stumbled into their living room burdened with an enormous amount of shopping bags. Bucky jumped up to help her, but Steph, somehow, waved him off.

Dropping some of the bags, Steph poked her head over her remaining purchases, “Nat, says we have to go to some club called One of a Kind tonight around three.”

“What happens if we don’t go?” Bucky was almost too afraid to ask.

“Something about shoving Clint’s arrows up both of our asses. All of them.”

“Can she do that? No, wait, never mind, she can.” Bucky gestured at the bags, “So, did you buy New York?”

Steph snorted, terribly unladylike. Bucky loved it. “Almost.” She managed to throw him a bag, “That one’s for you.”

Bucky caught it with his metal hand, and waved the other in the direction of their bedroom indignantly, “I have clothes!”

Steph struggled slowly in that direction, “Darcy said, and I quote, ‘Aggressive Hobo Chic is out of fashion’.”

Bucky called after her, “What about you?” He was answered with a slamming door.   
_______________________

Bucky is going to kill Natasha.

His eyes dart rapidly up and down her body, trying to simultaneously focus on her skirt while taking in her torso. The tight, leopard print skirt Natasha picked out lands mid-thigh, flaring out to show off long, toned legs. Her white leather jacket is practically a fucking mold of her torso, zipped up halfway to show off an oddly impressive amount of cleavage – Bucky’s ninety-five percent sure she’s wearing a push-up bra. Underneath Bucky can just make out a hint of black lace peeking over the zipper and reappearing under the hem of the jacket right above her belly button revealing a strip of stomach. Steph’s balancing on gold high heels with goddamned rings to match, and someone had the absolute fucking balls to paint her nails black.

She’s mouthwatering gorgeous. Bucky wants to wrap her up in a parka.

He’s too busy planning Natasha’s torture (he’ll start with a rusty spoon eventually making his slow way up to his favorite Colt M4A1 Rifle for the kill) to notice Steph stagger forward and knock a loose fist on his shoulder. Bucky catches her hand out of reflex, absentmindedly tangling their fingers together. Warm skin sliding over cold, metal joints.

She grins playfully up at him, but her eyes betray a hint of doubt. “Not your style, Barnes?” Steph’s free hand fiddles with the hem of her skirt, folding and rubbing the material between her index and middle fingers.

Bucky raises his eyebrow, his gaze purposefully traveling to her chest. Steph’s open handed smack on his shoulder wasn’t nearly as playful as her punch. Bucky winced and refrained from rubbing at the oncoming bruise, can’t let Steph have the satisfaction. “Course I do babe, c’mon it’s you. Never thought it was your style is all.” Bucky lays his Brooklyn accent on thick, knowing how much Steph likes it.

Steph socks his shoulder again. Her hand flattens and she strokes the material of Bucky’s fancy, new sports jacket. Her eyes darken as she drags her hand slowly down and across his chest, settling on his hip, fingers dancing between his thin, white shirt and expensive, black jeans.

She takes a wobbly step forward, forcing him to press his back against the wall of their hallway, where they’re waiting for Natasha and Co. Bucky inhales sharply, spreading his legs out instinctively to brace himself. Steph takes another less wobbly step (always learned fast Stevie), her knee just brushing his stiffening dick. Bucky has a fleeting moment of remorse for a certain Mr. Armani; his jeans won’t last the night.

The hand on his hip moves back to his sternum. “Nat and Darcy have good taste. Always liked you in suits Buck.”

Bucky swallowed audibly, chuckling roughly, “Not much of a suit.”

Steph leers, “Close enough.”

She leans in closer, and Bucky’s eyes close, expectant. A sharp rap on the newly reinforced door startles Steph and she teeters backwards on her spindly heels, both hands releasing him. Bucky lunges forward, grabbing her forearm and pulling her to fall on his chest. Bucky smirks at the crown of her head, “That’s what you get for trying to seduce poor, defenseless me, Rogers.”  
Steph pushes off him. “Defenseless my ass,” she retorts.

“And what a fantastic ass it is.” Bucky ogles shamelessly while Steph rushes for the door.

Natasha is leaning against the outside door frame, wearing a strapless, dark blue mini dress paired with black heels. She’s busy tapping on her phone, glancing up only to ask, “Shall we?”   
_______________________

They follow Nat on Steph’s bike, Steph pressed tight behind Bucky (“Enjoy it while it lasts Barnes. Only time I’m letting you drive.”). Each vibration lights up every nerve beneath her waist on fire, and she presses her forehead to Bucky’s shoulder trying to calm down. Christ, she’s been horny since the hallway.

When they get to the club, Steph hops off carefully, and Bucky follows after. She doesn’t see the wet spot she left. She definitively misses Bucky cleaning it off with his thumb, and sucking on it when she wasn’t looking. And if anyone sees her stumble, well, she can blame it on the bike and heels combo. 

The first thing Steph notices about One of a Kind – sorry, 1OAK – is gold. The entire place was packed, but Steph could still make out the gold painted walls, and black and gold checkered floor. Even the black bar had a gold colored countertop. Personally, Steph thought it was a bit ostentatious, but what did she know. This was the first club she’d ever been in. Even during their double dates, Steph would make a weak excuse to leave when Bucky suggested dancing. She wasn’t keen on watching Bucky dance with beautiful dame after dame back then. 

Nat navigates Steph and Bucky through the mass of people, weaving in between obscenely writhing and sweaty bodies, heading for the bar. Darcy and Clint are already there, a line of mostly empty shot glasses between them. Darcy pushes her long, dark hair over her shoulder as she laughs at something Clint said. Clint’s hand grabs a lock of hair, twisting it around a finger in a coil.

Steph smiles privately to herself. Good for them. When Nat finally reaches them, they both shift to make room for her. Clint kisses her cheek, and Darcy knocks their hips together once, then uses Nat to prop herself against. Steph’s secretive smile threatens to break into an all-out beam.

As they approach, Clint extends the hand not on Nat’s waist toward Bucky and they do some kind of complicated handshake involving a lot of back slapping. Clint’s gaze lands on Steph, and he allows his eyes to widen a fraction.

He whistles low – Steph is abruptly reminded of Darcy – and yells over the music, “You clean up nice Rogers.” Stubbornly, she fights a blush while Clint’s eyes roam appreciatively. Bucky put’s his metal arm around Steph, pulling her into his side, possessive.

Clint grabs a nearby beer, taking a long pull lazily. “Don’t think I forgot about you Barnes. You should let the girls dress you more often.” His leer is playful, eyeing Bucky’s stomach and thighs.  
Steph ignores both of them, reaching for one of the remaining shots. The alcohol burns as it slides down her throat, but it instantly calms her fraying nerves. Wincing, she waves at the dance floor grabbing everyone’s attention. “Thought you guys wanted to dance,” she shouts.   
_______________________

Time didn’t seem to exist. Steph doesn’t know how long they all danced, but eventually the five of them coupled off. Steph and Bucky’s legs ended up entwined, Bucky’s hands on her waist, her arms crossed behind his neck. Nat and Darcy had Clint sandwiched between them a few feet away, until they’d vanished somewhere more secluded.

Bucky pulls Steph’s hair out of the way to speak directly in her ear, “I could use a drink, sweetheart. You?” Steph nods, saving her voice. Bucky replaces the hands on her waist with an arm, supporting her as she walks carefully in her heels. Bucky buys them each a drink and they head for a nearby door that reveals an empty back porch with two red leather chairs in the shadows. The heavy door swings shut, abruptly cutting off the pounding music. The only proof that they were still at 1OAK, were the small vibrations that Steph felt through the floor. If she touched the brick wall, she’d be able to feel the entire building shake.

Steph automatically checks for any other entrances or possible threats. Satisfied that they were the only ones, Steph follows Bucky to the chairs, immediately taking and knocking one of the drinks back. Some kind of Scotch she thinks, but it doesn’t really matter. It’s alcohol, and she needs the extra courage. 

Bucky raises an eyebrow, “You know, they say you should savor the taste.” Steph smiles sweetly before snatching his drink as well. “Well not that’s just rude Rogers. I know you’re ma taught you better than that.”

Steph places the empty tumblers on the floor, and bites her lip, a nervous habit from when she was a kid. She decidedly hikes up her skirt and straddles his lap, her back facing the door. Bucky’s surprised, but he widens his legs so she slides a little further down his thighs.

Bucky’s hand starts crawling up her thigh, “Never knew you were so forward Steph.” He sneaks it underneath her skirt, Steph’s breath hitches. Her mouth feels like the fucking Sahara all of a sudden. C’mon Barnes.

She feels her resolve dissolve like wet newspaper. “Bucky, please,” Steph pleads.

“Please what?” he asks coy and teasing. His hand slips into her inner thigh, inching higher up.

Steph’s voice catches, why the hell is he so goddamn difficult. “Bucky…”

“Right here, babe,” he hums. A finger brushes her panties. Steph cuts off a moan, and a shiver goes up her spine.

“I need…”

“Need what?” He rubs two fingers against the fabric. Steph’s going to shove him off the next damn SHIELD helicarrier they’re on.

“Bucky, c’mon, you know what I want.”

“Baby girl, I honestly don’t know. You gotta use your words,” he whispers, his fingers rub up and down the seam of her lips using just enough pressure. “I can tell you want something. You’re so wet already. Just tell me what you want, love, and it’s yours.”

The fucking heels are starting to make her feet hurt, so she quickly arches her back, yanking them off. Her stomach clenches in anticipation, and she pulls herself back up, seeing him lick the left corner of his lips. Feeling the heat, she tears off her jacket as well, letting it fall on top of the shoes. She frames his face with her hands briefly before combing her fingers through his hair.

“Tell me what you need, baby girl,” Bucky sighs, his eyelids drooping. Playing with his hair is the easiest way to get his attention, it’s like candy for kids.

Steph takes the opportunity to kiss him, hard. Their lips crash together fantastically familiar. One of her hands slides down the back of his neck to cup his sharp jaw while the other stays buried in his thick hair. Bucky licks at Steph’s top lip while she nudges her tongue into his mouth to play behind his teeth. Her thumb sweeps across his cheekbone possessively, in sync with his gasping breath. Bucky, in turn, moves his lips to suck and nibble on her lower lip, drinking in the moans that slide into his mouth.

Bucky’s roguishness comes back with a vengeance. His fingers, which had stilled momentarily, began to slide over her wet panties again.

Steph inhales sharply as he presses against her clit. “Buck, Christ, Buck don’t make me say it.” 

Her cheeks burn at his impish smirk and she hides her face in his neck, biting his ear in retaliation, just the way he likes. Bucky cups her and grinds his heel up against her. Steph throws head back, intending to catch her breath, but Bucky’s name slips out without her approval. Damn it.

“Please,” she gasps.

Bucky’s smirk widens. “Say it, love.”

Her hips involuntarily jerk, grinding into his touch while Bucky mouthed along her collarbone, whispering with an airy laugh, his accent thick, “We both know you ain’t the blushing bride you’re pretendin’ to be, Stevie.”

Her head falls back as his mouth travels further down her exposed sternum. “Nnngh, need you, punk.” And goddamn it all, she can feel his smug fucking smile pressing into her skin. 

“But how exactly, babe?” His metal hand inches over her trembling stomach, up to her black, silk camisole. Gently, he pulls it down along with her bra, exposing her left breast. His thumb flicks her nipple, groaning at his cool touch she grinds down harder. She just needs more friction, more contact, just more.

She yanks back on Bucky’s hair, and forces him to look at her. Her voice is hushed, but Steph makes sure he can damn well hear her, “Make me come, Barnes.”

Bucky wets his lips and smiles wickedly at Steph, “All I needed to hear.” He grimaces and looks around them quickly, “Not here though. Somewhere a little less…out in the open.” Steph can’t help but groan in a combination of frustration and impatience. She bends almost in half, resting her forehead on his sternum, panting wetly. His fingers have finally stopped, and she sucks in a breath.

She sighs before straightening and pushing Bucky’s hand out of the way to fix her clothes. Once suitably composed, she hops off his lap. Steph grabs her jacket and shoes while Bucky runs a hand through his messy hair, trying to get it under control.

She holds her hand out to him, he takes it, and they go back inside, weaving and winding their way through the suffocating crowd. Steph is still barefoot, but she hardly notices, her only thought getting to the bathroom she saw when they first entered the club.

Steph slams the bathroom door open in her eagerness letting it bounce heavily off the tiled, gold (Steph shouldn’t be surprised) wall. She hauls Bucky inside, hard enough he almost falls on his face. She kicks the door closed, and shoves Bucky back against it. She grins at his grunt, and thrusts her leg between his. Flexing her strong thigh, she can feel his very interested cock through the denim, hot and hard.

Bucky eyes flutter closed, and he lets his head thump on the door. “Easy babe, I ain’t going anywhere,” he chuckles fondly, “Can promise you that.” 

Bucky’s eyes open and his hands move from the door to palm her ass underneath her skirt. Metal and flesh fingers slowly trace the line of her panties. Steph’s hands slap down on either side of his neck trying to get purchase as her thighs tremble from his touch. Bucky reaches blindly behind him locking the door in place after fumbling for a few moments. He turns his attention back on Steph; latching onto her collarbone, he asks between nips and sucks, “Do you want me to get you off or do you want me to just fuck you right now, baby? Don’t get me wrong, I’m gonna do both, but which do you want first?”

Steph groans in response to his low drawl, and purposely wraps her legs around his waist grinding down on his hard cock. His arms flex around her with a sharp intake of breath. Her hands move from the solid door tugging lightly at his hair. Bucky hums in pleasure and the vibrations make Steph’s toes curl in anticipation.

“Christ, Steph.” Steph’s lips curl into a smirk, “As much as I want you to fuck me into next week –“ Bucky’s answering moan goes straight to her twitching clit. Steph nuzzles his cheek, shushing him softly.

“As much as I want you to fuck me into next week, I don’t want to do that here.” She pauses when she feels a thumb dragging up and down her cunt over her panties. Steph repeats shakily, 

“Barnes, make me come.”

Bucky finally lifts his head and wets his kiss-swollen lips, “As you wish.”

Steph has time to roll her eyes (she has got to get him away from Natasha and Clint’s movie stash), before Bucky surges across the small space and deposits her on the edge of bathroom counter. He crouches low to kiss an ankle, peering up at Steph from beneath long eyelashes. Steph’s left to white knuckle the, undoubtedly, expensive ceramic when Bucky starts a slow trail of wet kisses and nips up her legs.

“You know what my favorite part about,” he gestures at Steph’s body, “all of this is?” Steph shakes her head tentatively. Bucky grins, “Your damn legs, Rogers.” Bucky bites at the vulnerable inside of her thigh. Steph lets her head fall back against the mirror and sighs.

Bucky pushes her skirt farther up and hooks two fingers underneath the band of her panties, tugging them down to her knees. Steph can feel his hand creep up her thigh to play with her wet lips. Steph’s eyes open (and when the hell did they close?) and she quickly bends over him, releasing the counter to cradle his head, pulling him up for a rough kiss.

Without finesse, she shoves her tongue past his lips and behind his teeth, licking and tasting everything she can. Bucky pulls back, “You ok, babe?” Regret for wasted years unexpectedly hollows her stomach. She hates that it took them so long to get here. 

Steph leans their foreheads together, both of them sharing hot puffs of air as she waits for the feeling to pass. Once it’s gone, she gives him a small smile and laughs quietly, “Never thought we’d get to do this, Buck.” Bucky lifts his head, returning her smile, and presses a dry kiss to her cheekbone, “Me neither, Steph.”

Steph blushes, but leans back far enough to raise an eyebrow and pushes down on strong shoulders, “I think you were in the middle of something.” Bucky snorts in amusement. With an overdone flourish he gets back on his knees. Resting his forearms on top of her long thighs, Bucky cocks his head and Steph has to stifle a nervous giggle. “Confused?”

Bucky narrows his eyes up at her, showing the barest hint of offense. Steph’s apology is cut off when, without ceremony, Bucky wrenches her skirt up and out of the way, immediately going down on her. Steph’s gasp is entirely involuntary and her legs instinctively cross behind his head, urging him deeper. Her cunt aches as his tongue skillfully traces her walls, and his thumb, God, massages her clit.

Her eyes close again, and she hears Bucky undoing his belt and zipper. Steph shifts her hips up, attempting to encourage Bucky to go deeper, rougher.

“Buck, Bucky. So close, please.”

Bucky instantly replaces his thumb with his mouth, alternating between sucks and careful bites. Steph feels the scrape of his stubble against her sensitive thighs. Her breathing hitches insider her throat coming out coarser, rougher, shorter. Threads of pleasure pulse and curl through her abdomen. Her legs tighten around Bucky pulling him in closer.

When she comes, it’s violent. Steph’s legs uncross, spreading wide apart on his shoulders. Fisting handfuls of his hair she keeps Bucky in place as she bucks wildly against his mouth, crying out his name. When she finally comes down, Steph slumps forward, boneless. She untangles her fingers from Bucky’s hair choosing to clutch at Bucky’s shoulders, preventing herself from falling on top of him. Freed, Bucky rocks back on his heels (almost smacking their foreheads together the fucker, honestly he’s supposed to be an assassin), gasping. From this angle Steph’s able to see his flushed cock, curving out of his jeans.

Bucky shifts his weight awkwardly, dropping his forehead on her knee. His erratic breathing sounds harsh in the quiet. Steph runs a hand down Bucky’s chest, landing on his thudding heart, her wrist bent at an awkward angle. Her mind is slow and she fuzzily contemplates the possibility of his heart beating right out of his chest.

Steph feels the rapid jerks of his bicep becoming more sporadic beside her calf. She happily hums, delighted as he bites down on her thigh finally coming. Steph rubs her hands back up his chest and along his shoulders, comforting while he pants wetly against her knee. Lazily, they travel up his neck, scritching lightly behind his ears before running gently through his sweat-slicked hair. Bucky noses her knee lovingly and gazes up at her, a spark of mischief in his eyes.

“So. Round two back at the tower?” And Steph laughs loud.

**Author's Note:**

> Check me out on [tumblr](http://ruskieblaine.tumblr.com)!


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